Closer
by kid c
Summary: Snape and Bellatrix discover their undisclosed and suppressed desires for one another. Oneshot.


**A/N** I literally wrote this in under an hour and didn't have anyone proofread it, so I hope it's okay. Just a smutty one-shot I felt like doing because I couldn't ignore my muse to write about these two.

* * *

><p>He didn't know how the hell they wound up in the position they were in; him sitting in a wicker chair at the kitchen table, her straddling his hips, both of them desperate to rip the clothes off one another but too caught up in the repeated crashing of their lips to be able to undo buttons and unzip zippers. He was drunk. So was she – or so he suspected; he had no way of truly knowing because she hid her inebriation with expertise. He rarely got drunk; tonight was the first time in a long while, but she frequently poured booze down her throat. She had been animalistic, forcing him to sit in the chair with a hasty push, but he didn't care. It only worked to fuel his desire for her, which he kept suppressed for so long. And now was his chance to release everything that had been building up within him. He struggled to remain patient, but with a woman as ravishing as Bellatrix sitting on top of his lap, her breasts not two inches from the tip of his nose, Snape had never felt so <em>im<em>patient.

"Come on, luv," he breathed, hating the huskiness of his voice and hoping she didn't take that as a sign for exactly how much he wanted her, all of her, in that moment. "Let's go upstairs…" He wrapped his arms around her and tightened his hold on her hips, preparing to pick her up and carry her up the staircase to his bedroom, but she resisted by prying his hands away from her body.

"No," she protested in a soft tone, drawing an invisible line down Snape's cheek with one of her slender fingers. She traced his jawline and the outline of his lips, placing her fingertip on his lower lip.

His dark eyes full of lust, Snape inclined his head forward to take Bellatrix's fingertip into his mouth. Gently, he bit down on her finger, eliciting a sudden gasp from her; he relinquished his bite and her finger drifted away. The corners of his lips rose to form a wry grin on his sallow features – the venereal gratification of hearing her sigh was enough to make him feel as though his pants were just a _bit_ too tight.

Her hands, slight yet conducted gracefully, were pressed against him in the next moment – one against his chest, pinning him against the back of the wicker chair; the other cupped his groin, gently massaging the bulge behind his zipper, making it clear exactly what she wanted. His response was to caress one of her breasts with one hand, her ass with the other. The mixture of haste, lust, and hate with which their lips repeatedly came together only made them crave each other even more.

Three hours ago, they had been sitting across from one another at dinner with Lucius and Narcissa, each of them trying as hard as possible to avoid making eye contact with the other. Snape hated Bellatrix. Bellatrix hated Snape. That was how it was known to be, and it was accepted simply as two people who did not like each other in the least. What nobody knew, though, was that their mutual hatred delved much deeper than a few dirty looks or nasty remarks.

Although it kept hidden, it was clear to both of them that they longed for one another. The wall of sexual tension erected between them had built itself brick by brick, a gradual process that started small and became more of an issue with each layer added. But Snape hadn't begun to notice it until a drunken Bellatrix followed him out of Malfoy Manor as he was leaving after dinner, continuously bothering him with the idea of having more drinks at his home until he finally muttered an irritated yes, his stomach twisting at the thought of something taking place between them that evening.

Two bottles of wine put them in the position in which they currently found themselves. His lechery for her, mixed with his impatience, had him nearly ripping her clothes away from her body. He managed to take off her top with her seated on his lap, but as she was undoing the buttons of his shirt, he stopped her abruptly. He stood them both up and carried her into the kitchen, where he seated her on the countertop before loosening his belt, pulling it through the loops, and flinging it to the floor, the buckle crashing against the tile with a loud _clink_.

Her hands dove below his waistline, fingernails dancing lightly against the sensitive flesh between his hips. She smirked as she evoked a shudder from him, immediately followed by a low sigh. She had him in the crosshairs and he was well aware of it. He focused his efforts on remaining as stoic as he possibly could; the expression of his emotion in this situation would expose his uncontrollable desire for her, therefore making him look weak. The last thing he wanted was for her to see him at his most vulnerable. It threatened his dignity for reasons he could not name.

But he had no say in that, because the second her hand plunged deeper and wrapped around his throbbing member, he gasped; he had no power over which emotions his chose to display – not when the woman he'd quietly, unknowingly lusted after for so long.

From this, it was clear to him that they were meant to satisfy one another's sexual desires, even if it meant only behind closed doors. They quite obviously still hated each other. The aggressiveness behind their violence in tearing off one another's clothing reinforced it. He yanked her panties away from her hips, pushing them with haste down her thighs and tugging them off of her when they pooled at her ankles. Unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, he parted her legs by shoving his way between them, his arousal jutting against her pearl.

The contact was overwhelming.

He reminded himself that this should progress slowly and brought his lips to hers once again. His shirt, unbuttoned but still worn, was pushed off of his shoulders and cast down to the floor. Her hands explored his back as they kissed. He pressed his own hands against her lower back and inched her closer to the edge of the counter; closer to him. His tip graced her entrance and it took everything he had to restrain from letting a moan escape him. _Not just yet. _

Snape brought his thumb to her pearl and began drawing circles, causing Bellatrix to suddenly break away from his lips and mutter beneath her breath, "_Severus_ – " – but she caught herself giving herself away to him and swallowed her words. Upon seeing the redness spread across her cheeks, Snape grinned, and increased the speed of the movement of his thumb against her until she had no choice but to sigh and moan. He pulsated with need.

"Stop," she commanded suddenly, wrapping her fingers around his wrist and squeezing. She seemed to interpret his furrowed brow as an inquiry about the unexpected halt because she leaned forward and muttered against his ear, her hot breath on his neck giving him goose bumps, "I want you inside me."

A chill went down his spine as he realized that this was really about to happen between the two of them. He had always regarded her with such distaste; he never imagined that they would be in a situation even remotely like this one. But he readied himself. He placed his hands on her hips, tightened his grip, and slowly, carefully entered her.

She let a high-pitched noise escape her; he could not help but groan as her walls tightened around his length. She felt perfect; he planted a kiss on either one of her breasts, then the space between them, then her collarbone and neck and jawline until he found her lips again. He withdrew himself almost completely, then thrust into her with enough force to make her yelp.

"Severus – "

"Shut your mouth."

He did it again, except this time he forced his way deeper inside her, edging as close to her wall as he possibly could. He began to thrust in and out of her, establishing a slow rhythm at first, but quickening the pace at a gradual rate. Every time his tip came in contact with her wall, she nearly shouted out his name (only managing to pronounce the first syllable each time; "_Sev_!" she'd scream). He forgot his determination to keep as quiet as possible; he was so lost in the ecstasy of fucking her raw that his moans nearly outdid hers.

Then she said his name urgently – "Severus," she cried, her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms latched onto his shoulders, "I'm so close – " A light moan flew from her throat each time he thrust into her, each one increasing in volume as she moved closer and closer to her climax. He slowed down a great deal, but his final thrusts had him nearly throwing his body against her; he closed his mouth and gritted his teeth, determined for her to come first.

And then she gasped – "Severus – _fuck_," she yelled as she rode the waves of her orgasm. Her walls tightened around him and he thrust into her one final time before he emptied his seed into her, the intemperance pulling a loud groan out of him that came from deep within his chest. He withdrew from her; nearly collapsed against her on the countertop.

A few moments passed as they caught their breath, saying nothing to one another. Both of them were panting like dogs. And then the shame of what they'd just done began to manifest itself on Snape's shoulder; he felt a wave of guilt and embarrassment wash over him. He'd outright _fucked _a woman he was known to hate; he had not even realized he lusted after her until that evening when she imposed her presence upon him as he left the Malfoys'. Quietly, he dressed himself, being sure to keep his eyes from falling on Bellatrix by keeping his back to her, but she seemed to pick up on his humiliation.

"Ashamed already?" she said in mocking tones.

When he turned to look at her, he was glad to see that she'd already redressed. He scowled. "What _are_ we, exactly?" he inquired with a note of disdain leaking into the tone of his voice.

Bellatrix hopped off of the counter, faced him; she cupped his cheek, caressing her thumb against his pale flesh. The look in her eyes conveyed a fake affection for him, something melodramatic at best. "Oh, sweetheart, I'm afraid I'm not quite sure," she answered, her words dripping with sarcasm.

He smacked her hand away from his face and pointed at the door. "Out," he ordered. "Now."

She smirked. Within seconds, she apparated from the room, leaving him alone in his kitchen. He ravaged the cabinets for more alcohol but was discouraged when he found no more.


End file.
